


Trouble Doesn't Knock

by lilysooly



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Gender Neutral, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mischief, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Possessive Behavior, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, lots and lots of it, we are clowning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilysooly/pseuds/lilysooly
Summary: The unlife has been anything but a peaceful slumber. It's Hell after all, what did you expect? Things are okay though. You have a job, home, and consistency, something most sinners could only dream of.It worked out well.Too well.-updates at randomall chapters have been edited/updated as of 2/4/21
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 132
Kudos: 372





	1. 365 Days Before the Extermination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is a little messy and is an intro more than anything else. It gets better from here on out trust me!
> 
> *this has been edited as of 2/3/21 :D

You stopped counting how many years have come and gone since you made Hell your home. The afterlife is anything but a peaceful slumber; there’s danger and temptation lurking around every corner, but it’s not like you were expecting anything different. Much to your surprise (and relief), you’re living better now than on the surface. Six feet under, you’ve found somewhere to belong, even in a place as brutal and wretched as this. 

You work at Overworld Obscurities, a pint-sized bookstore that deals in selling and buying rare human books. Sometimes it brings in shady folk, but it’s mostly old souls searching for nostalgia. The shop sports centuries old hardwood floors and books covering every inch with the occasional ratty poster. Upstairs is storage and your humble residence. The two-story building is situated on the outskirts of Pentagram city, not all too far from the Cannibal Colony. The criminally quiet street is much to your (and the boss’) liking.

The job is a godsend, the closest thing to heaven that could’ve stumbled into your afterlife. Abner, your boss for the last decade, is a heavy set cyclops-like demon with an  _ awful  _ comb over. He has an incredibly bushy eyebrow and mustache to match. The sinner is straightforward and gruff, sometimes coming off as rude, but he’s an angel compared to other sinners down here. 

Once, not too long after your death, you worked up the courage to ask him what landed him in Hell. All he responded with was some variation of “Only perfect souls get into Heaven.” Abner lets you live upstairs in the storage room rent free, as long you keep the place tidy. He's like a father to you in this strange world, the only one who’s given you an ounce of wisdom or kindness here. How did you get so lucky? If it wasn't for Abner, you would've been mince meat years ago. He's the one who found you mindlessly wandering the streets of eternal punishment.

You were awestruck by your surroundings. This was hell? It felt like a normal city, despite the anthropomorphic beings and red hue of everything. You couldn’t have been there for more than a day when Abner found you. 

He slung his arm around your shoulder, forcing you to walk with him. “I know this is the last place you should be trusting anyone, but just listen. There’s a few lizards that have been tailing you for a block. I saw the bastards from my shop." You glanced over your shoulder, and, sure enough, you were being followed. "C’mon, I’ll take you back. I’ll even make you a cup of joe if you want. No promises that it’ll be any good” He could tell the moment you walked by that you were new. The rags hell supplies to newbies is just a target on your back, and your doe-eyed expression didn’t do much to help. 

It's as if the luck from the rest of your mortal life came with you to hell… and was promptly used up in one go. Whatever, you wouldn't change a thing. 

You have a stable job, charming home, and get to deal with interesting characters each day. Your unlife provides you with safety and, with that, comfort. What more could a mortal soul want in this hellscape?

Things worked out well,  _ too well _ .

The only thing that you  _ really _ have to worry about is the extermination. Once a year the angels come, slaughtering whoever they can get their hands on. You had always managed to stay safe, cooped up above the expansive bookshelves. This year was much the same. Abner took his leave and fled Pentagram City, hoping to escape prowling sinners in the aftermath. As long as he doesn’t get hurt, you have no reason to worry. Plus you’re off until he gets back. 

With all this free time on your hands, what better time to do some new year’s cleaning? The new year means new chores after all. You just finished cleaning the hardwood floors of the loft seconds ago. All of those nooks and crannies make everything so much harder. At least it's done, and the place is practically spotless. You didn't want to think about how long it's been since you've cleaned the dump.

At least it's your dump.

Sweat dripping from your brow and arms aching, it's about time for a break. The windows and counters can wait. You toss the worn rag to the side, immediately forgetting about it. As dramatically as you can, you drag yourself over to the prize of your afterlife — the tube radio Abner gifted you all those years ago. Twisting the knob, you manage to find the oldies station — anything but that Verosika Mayday shit. You carelessly throw yourself onto a high backed armchair and pull a hardcover from under yourself, hoping you can finish it tonight. 

Just as you sink into its ink,  _ something _ drags you out of it. The floor creaked downstairs like something,  _ someone, _ was walking around — which couldn’t be possible. The shop is clearly closed, the door bolted shut, not to mention the streets are still littered from the carnage of yesterday’s massacre _. _ You listen intently; only a jazzy tune meets your strained ears. 

It must have been,  _ had _ to have been your imagination. The building is certainly more than a century older than you. Old structures are like that: rickety. Inhale, exhale as you relax your tense shoulders. Your heartbeat slows, yet worry still nips at you. The calm is no longer relaxing. On edge, you return to the book.

And yet again, just as your about to forget your troubles among yellowed and torn pages,  _ something _ yanks you out of it.

So much for your escape from reality. The radio starts to fade in and out. The static grows in intensity as you look up, drowning out whatever music made it through; it’s so air buzzing that you can feel it  _ pricking _ your skin. You set the book on the coffee table beside you and stand with intent to inspect the device. With each step, static and crackling grow more ear-splitting. The radio begins to shake violently and glow a faint green. You can’t help but stare like a deer caught in headlights, ignoring the fear ebbing at your stomach, your very soul.

Wits regained and a step closer, you’re in range to give it a thwack — then it goes silent and still. Your clenched fist strikes the top with a soft thump; the moment it makes contact, the radio  _ laughs _ .

What. THE.  **FUCK.**

You've seen and heard your fair share of shit down here; it's Hell. So why is your radio spooking up on you freaking you out?

“Hello sweetheart, would you mind giving me a hand downstairs?”

That's why.

You tense up and freeze as the color drains from your face. White hot adrenaline seeps into your bloodstream. 

The Radio Demon, an overlord of unrivaled power and cruelty.

Here we go with this guy. 

My bad, this  _ creep _ .

You reluctantly make your way downstairs. "I escaped erasure by the angels, but I don't think I'll have the same luck with him… How the fuck did he get in? Shouldn’t he be out grabbing new territories? Did he just watch the mass genocide? He probably enjoyed the 'show’.” 

Just your luck.

"He's a customer first," you try to reason with yourself. "Not the Radio Demon, not a ticking time bomb, not a creep- no he's definitely that. Above all he is a customer. That’s what Abner would say." But you still aren’t keen on the thought of possibly becoming his next victim. 

This isn’t the first time the Radio Demon has come in to browse. He shows up about once or twice a year, despite how desperately Abner wants to ban him. He isn’t subtle when it comes to expressing his disdain for the overlord. 

Every single time he’s there, the Radio Demon makes some kind of snarky comment about the boss: “Lighten up! Wouldn’t want to scare away business with that frown!” or “Have you no shame being underdressed constantly?” He adores picking at Abner’s constant scowl and always ends his visits with the same irritating statement: "You're never fully dressed without a smile!" punctuated with his staccato laughter.

That unwelcomed demon paces in front of the counter waiting for someone to emerge. You can hear his heavy steps from the stairwell, dress shoes clacking against oak, slow and ominous like a funeral procession. 

Your first experience with the infamous demon was unsettling to say the least. You were a newbie to Hell when you first encountered him, narrowly survived your first extermination only a day prior. He didn’t have to, but Abner stayed in town to keep you company (and safe). 

It was a quiet morning. You were sweeping up downstairs right before opening. The morning light streaming through the dust always filled you with an ache for what was; you’ve always hated nostalgia. You peeked outside, hoping to see some of the more “interesting” characters leftover from the night. 

You didn’t get what you were expecting. 

There he was, watching intently. The stag’s smile was everything  _ but _ cheerful. You made and broke eye contact before hurriedly moving your attention back to the broom. You never wanted to see those sanguine eyes again; they didn’t feel right. You fought the urge to check again until finally caving once a few minutes went by. It felt like days, years, a millennia.

_ Gone.  _

It was like he was never there. 

After closing, you brought it up to the boss. “Hey Abner?” You were wiping down the windows at the front. 

“Spit it out.” He was sitting at the front counter, feet propped up and counting the day's profit.

And you did just that, tongue running a mile a minute. “Ok so today I was cleaning up down here right before opening, and this creep was staring in, like he was watching me. He had this really creepy smile,” You stretched the edges of your mouth upwards with your index fingers to mimic his grin. “And was wearing red all over.” 

He looked up at you wide-eyed. You swore it was about to pop out.

“Now that I think about it,” you pointed at a poster. “He looks like that guy… just toned down a few notches.” The poster featured the Radio Demon: grin wide, eyes aglow, and antlers sprawled out. You had heard tid-bits here and there about him but never the full story. You just knew he was bad news.

Abner rose from the counter, reeking of fear and paranoia. He grabbed your arm roughly and dragged you into the stairwell, hushing you with a finger to his lips.

“What gives?” you hissed at him. 

The cyclops whisper-screamed, “Listen here, you stay as far away as you can from that Radio Demon. He’ll kill you. He’ll erase you. He’ll  _ eat  _ you." Abner pressed a clenched fist to his mouth and exhaled loudly from his nose. "Just stay the fuck away from him. I'll handle him when he comes in, got it?" He always tried playing protector when it came to you. You didn't question it and simply thanked him for his trouble. 

You were always lucky enough to have Abner around when the overlord came in, but that isn’t the case today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my baby! I've been working on her for longer than I would like to admit. Buckle-up for the ride! 
> 
> A Second Chance is more of a side project and was originally intended to be a side project. Apologies in advance, the updates for her are most likely going to be irregular compared to this one. 
> 
> Another thing! a goofy tid-bit: Abner sounds like Bernie Sanders (for some reason I couldn't shake the thought while writing him)


	2. An Unwelcomed Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here he is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but post this chapter early. The 1st was more of an intro anyway. Time to reeeally get into the thicc of it!
> 
> *edited as of 2/3/21

_ Oh great _ . 

You reach the bottom of the stairwell sooner than you had hoped. Sporting that classic customer service smile, you tidy you close and stumble behind the counter — the only thing between you and the dealmaker. Your face is already sore from the phony grin. Even with fists clenched and nails digging into your palms, your hands still shake softly. 

The moment you're in front of him, he leans over you at what must be an uncomfortable angle. His back is arched forward, seemingly poised to lunge. The white noise in the air thickens as his neck orchestrates a symphony of sickening cracks. 

“Alastor, a pleasure!” His static tainted voice crackles. He's elated: his hopes came true! It’s the little one! He never got to have a worthwhile exchange with you. The dreary cyclops always got in the way. He grabs your wrist, giving it a curt shake. 

That grin widens, threatening to stretch beyond the restraints of flesh. He can smell that you’re scared, and it is  _ sweet _ — sweet like the pennies trapped and corroding in a confectioner's cash register.

“Lucky me that you have that radio and not some picture box!" For the briefest of moments, his smile morphs into something akin to a grimace. " There’s not as much imagination involved when it comes to those silly things. So think of what having one as your head must be like! I doubt- no I  _ know _ you wouldn’t be able to think at all. ”  His laugh punctures the air in staccato syllables, and a n audience laugh track plays to compliment it. Once he’s done with humoring himself, he folds his hands neatly behind him.

His overly chipper demeanor mixed an air of hostility would make anyone uneasy, even the king himself. You don’t take your eyes off of him for a second, not even giving in to a blink. You watch as if that will save you from his predation; it most definitely won’t, but you’ll do anything to feel a prick of ease.

That crimson gaze darts all around the store, finally coming to land on that tattered  **Beware Radio Demon** poster — to which he sparkles with amusement and glee.

“I didn’t know you were such a fan!” He reaches out and gives your cheek an affectionate pinch. Nails, no  _ claws,  _ threaten to pierce your skin. You recoil at his touch. “What a little treat you are! I could just eat you up!” 

By his growing grin, he plans to do just that. How can someone’s teeth be so sharp? You feel like you’re going to get cut just by looking. His eyes squint as his smile grows beyond its already unnatural size. The constant hum of his static almost sounds  _ pleased _ at your discomfort. His snickering confirms your hunch. The tension fades as soon as he releases you. He stands back to his full height, hands clasped neatly behind. 

You ignore what he said, desperate to cut to the chase. “Lucky indeed-y! How can I be of assistance?” You can’t believe you were able to spit out something that made sense; you can barely look him in the eye without succumbing to festering fear. Teeth pull the inside of your cheek, gnawing at it. 

“Well you see, I have a small predicament. I’ve been in search of a particular volume.” He taps a finger to his chin in feigned contemplation. “A Dance in the Fog I believe it's called. I’ve looked all throughout the nine circles and can’t find a trace of it!” He dramatically raises a hand to his forehead and leans back, a melancholy violin is even heard from his form. “Although that’s not very surprising… it’s from my time after all!” The irritating laugh track plays _again_.

“My, what a shame!” as he had hoped, you fake empathy. You take a breath, buying time to think. You finished that wreck of a novel about a month ago. No wonder he can’t find it.  _ It’s bad. _ “You’re in luck, I think I have it upstairs. Just let me-” He cuts you off. 

“No need, my dear!” He brushes past with a flourish and walks to the stairwell with two long strides. He turns to face you, first his head then the rest of him follows. 

Glancing up at him, you take in the sheer size difference. Why did he have to be so tall and lanky? He might as well be the dried cadaver of a giant. His height is offensive. Usually demons get  _ at least  _ a few extra inches when they manifest in Hell. You didn’t get so lucky. You stayed the same five foot something while keeping a semi-human appearance. You  _ look _ like you don’t belong here. 

The demon opens the entrance to the stairwell and waits for you to follow him as if you were a doting pup. His cheshire grin  _ begging  _ you to say something about his intrusion, he invites himself up, and you trail close behind. Every cell in your undead body is screaming at you to not go with him. 

The Radio Demon steps into your home, your sanctuary. Your gut twists as if his very presence will spoil everything you’ve built. Looking about excitedly, he waves an arm in the air as he gathers his words.

“What a cozy little life you live! How do you survive? I wish I knew.” To which he’s thrown a dirty look. The audacity he has, what a backhanded compliment. Although, he’s not entirely wrong; your home is atypical for Hell. The room is warm and welcoming, unlike other dwellings. It feels like something out of a black and white movie, not eternal damnation. 

A smile breaks your nervous demeanor. “Most of it was already here. All it needed was elbow grease.” He turns to face you. His head cocks to the side as soon as he notices your sheepish grin. You swear you hear a click. 

“Theeeere’s that smile!” he says in a sing-song voice. “Finally, I started to think that I would never catch a glimpse of it. As you know-” he leans over you, noses ghosting each other. His smirk widens. “You’re never fully dressed without a smile,” his voice dropped an octave. You were waiting to hear that annoying fucking slogan. Eyes as wide as dinner plates, you glimpse yourself in his monocle, unsure of whether you’re blushing or if it's the tint of the glass. 

You take a  _ very _ large step back.

“Haha yep!” you take another. “Anyway, you’ll find what you’re looking for on the top shelf.” You spoke so fast you weren’t sure if he understood what you said. You motion to the bookshelf in the back of the room. 

“Ah, yes… thank you.” Unfazed, the unwelcomed visitor saunters over to where you indicated. You look around frantically, trying to find something to distract yourself with. Your eyes lock on your pour-over coffee contraption. You could use a pick-me-up.

“Coffee?” and you immediately regret asking. Now he’s going to stay longer than necessary.  _ Shit _ . You set the kettle on the stove and put the gadget together. Why did you let him into your home?  You aren’t even much of a coffee drinker, you prefer tea.

“That would be a delight… black if you could.” His finger grazes each novels’ spine as he searches for what he desires. A few minutes pass, each one agonizingly slow in his suffocating presence.

“Is this your personal collection?”

Without looking up you answer “ye-”

He cuts you off “Even these?” You quickly look up to see his shit eating grin. He’s motioning to the middle row with his trademark microphone stand. At first you didn’t think much of it, until he pulled out a particular novel: _Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure._ Of course this nosy bastard found your erotica collection and decided to use it to screw with you. Your face burns red as you rush over to him, moving between him and the shelf.

“I thought you were only here for A Dance in the Fog _ , _ ” you practically spit at him.

“Originally I was, but now it looks like I’m staying for coffee too!” the obnoxious laugh track plays again along with his own, equally annoying, laugh. You snatch the novel out of his hands, and as you’re about to retort, the kettle hisses. 

The demon takes the book out of your hand and places it in its rightful place. “There you go dear… how’s that coffee coming along?” he  asks lowly, grin audible . He picks you up and moves you out of the way by the collar of your shirt,  _ much _ too easily. What're you, nothing but a feather to him? He pinches your cheek again. He can’t help but indulge in your demeanor as you grow more peeved. 

You hold your tongue and head back to the kitchen. You would've smacked him if he was anyone  _ but _ him. At this rate, you wonder if you'll even survive the night. You’re  _ almost  _ willing to make a deal with him to get him to leave you alone. 

A couple minutes later you return with two coffees in hand. You thought about poisoning his drink, but he would've surely noticed. The Radio Demon already seated himself in the high backed chair opposite of yours, legs delicately crossed at the knees. He’s already flipping through _A_ _Dance in the Fog._ You set the delicate mugs on the table between the armchairs. 

“Thank you, doll,” his voice booms compared to the previous near silence. You nod in acknowledgement as you seat yourself, book already in hand. At least he has manners. 

You both read and drink in silence. Static pulsing from his body, pricking your exposed skin. It’s just enough to give you goosebumps. Hanging with him is as appealing as using a dumbbell as a pillow. 

With the chapter finished, you peek over your book at his relaxed form. Your only intention is to make sure he isn’t doing anything fishy, but the longer you look, the more you find yourself admiring his features. His eyes would be pretty if they didn’t belong to him. His smile lost its fakeness; you dare to think it was genuine. Prickly static accents his exhales. 

He can feel your gaze, and rubies lock with yours. He caught you staring, amusement coloring his eyes. His previously closed smile curls into that trademark shit eating grin. Your glance darts from his face back to the page, embarrassed. Now his egotistical self is going to think you have the hots for him. 

You see his eyes glued to you from your peripheral vision, observing, no, considering you. It makes you uncomfortable, and it isn’t just because you haven’t seen him blink once since he noticed you watching him. His annoying radio buzz somehow sounds pleased when you begin to fidget in discomfort.

The drinks were finished long ago. Darkness seeps into the cushy space. You’re curled up in the chair, nearly forgetting who you're reading with. The Radio Demon sets his book next to his mug and stands.

“It’s getting mighty late. I best get going. Quite the pleasure meeting you!” He takes your hand in his palm, planting his lips on the back. The size difference alone makes you uneasy, and the sharp nails only accentuate the dread. You feel fire spread across your face as his eyes meet yours. They stare into your heart, your secrets,  _ your soul _ . A vexatious mix of fear and embarrassment floods your veins. 

“See you soon, Radio Demon.” You pull your hand away too eagerly as he stands. You regret implying that he’s welcome back. You  _ know _ he’ll take you up on it.

“I’ll be back to finish the story without a doubt! I’m already looking forward to my next visit,” he flutters his eyelashes in what you assume to be an attempt to feign innocence. He’s about to step into the stairwell “Oh and doll?  _ Please _ do call me Alastor," the static in his voice crackles. "Take care!” He shoots you an impossibly large grin as he exits. You listen for each step as he descends and the bell’s jingle as he exits the shop. As soon as he’s out, you scurry down to bolt the door again. 

You’re deep in thought as you ascend the stairs. You’re scared but curious? He’s different from what Abner warned. No, he’s just wearing a mask to mess with you; you’re certain. But, why would he waltz into  _ your  _ home and decide you’re reading buddies? 

What in the satan's name is his deal?? 

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. 


	3. Book Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stinky deer man

Not having to open up the bookshop downstairs every morning has been nice. _Really nice._ You can sleep until whatever ungodly hour you choose and procrastinate on all the little chores. You have an eternity to do them after all, so who’s stopping you from taking advantage of that? 

Yesterday you actually left the rickety building for the first time since the extermination. Kudos to you! All you had to pick up was coffee since Alastor had been drinking it all up. Speaking of which, he’s been coming by every _single_ day for the past two weeks for “book club”, which translates to bugging you for a couple hours. When you told him “See you soon,” you didn’t expect to see him back the next evening. Or the one after that. Or _that_. You’ve more or less been forced to tolerate him.

Something that initially caught you off guard was how playful, how _touchy_ he is. It seems like he’s always looking for some excuse to touch you, whether it be brushing by you, picking a piece of lint off of your shirt, or pinching your cheeks. For someone who hates being touched himself, he doesn't know boundaries. With that constant grin on his face, you can’t tell what thoughts are running through his head. You hope you’d never find out.

Back to your little excursion. On the way back from your bean run, you stumbled upon a little flea market of sorts. Was most of it, if not all, stolen? Probably. Did you care? Nope. You stayed close to the entrance, avoiding the tangled maze that was the other sellers. As soon as you stepped in, one vendor caught your eye. A pretty average imp had a box as tall as him filled to the brim with books. You sifted through it for no more than a minute. 

“How much?” you asked without looking up from the mess.

“Five.” Oh wow his voice was a lot deeper than you expected.

“Deal.” You handed him the bill. If you could find one or two books worth selling, you could more than break even. You stumbled home with your box and beans (and groceries). It was a lot heavier than it looked. 

That’s the task you set out for yourself for the rest of the week: organizing the contents of the box. You wanted to take your time going through all of the fresh stock. There wasn’t much else to do except read or clean. And you already cleaned the place top to bottom three or four times. 

You slide out of your bed and turn to the clock: noon. You could really get used to this. You never thought getting enough sleep could be a reality. 

You make a list in your mind as you head to the bathroom. 

  1. Shower 
  2. Get dressed
  3. Tea and breakfast
  4. Sort the books
  5. “Book Club” 



You get the water flowing and set it to the hottest temperature. You peel away your pjs and toss them into the laundry basket. You watch the cracked mirror fog up as you brush your teeth. You spit out the foam, not bothering to wipe away the excess, and step into the stream. 

The nearly scorching water soaks into your skin for a solid minute before you start working strawberry shampoo into your hair. A little childish yeah, but the nostalgia is nice. You rinse out your locks and lather up your loofah with similarly scented soap and scrub away long forgotten dreams. A pump of conditioner is combed through your hair. You rinse off and watch the bubbles float to the drain. Your mind drifts off into unawareness as the warm water works magic over your muscles. 

You unwillingly shut it off and pat yourself dry with a not so fluffy towel. Wrapping yourself up in a neat bundle, you step out and head to your closet. Comfy clothes will do for today. There’s no one to impress. You gracelessly slap on navy sweatpants and a red hoodie before draping the towel over your shoulders to prevent getting your clothes wet. 

Two things checked off. Now for sustenance. 

First things first: kettle on the stove. Done. Next, slap a couple slices of bread into the toaster. Done. Butter and jam? Already out of the fridge. 

Within no more than five minutes, you're settled at the counter with breakfast and tea. You’re thankful that your baker cuts the flour with only a little sawdust. He’s a real one. You glance at the clock: quarter past one. It's about time to get sorting. Hopefully you can make a dent before Alastor shows up. 

You slip on your fluffy pink slippers and grab the catalog book before scuffling downstairs, tea in hand. A yawn passes through your lips as you pass the counter. You guess you aren’t as awake as you thought you were.

“Good afternoon.”

“Morning Al.” Wait _._ **WAIT** _._

"Dear, I would warn you to not follow the example of the other sinners here. They lack all proper discipline! The only way to have a productive day is to rise bright and early!"

You stop in your tracks and turn to the register. There the bastard is, feet propped up, reading, sipping coffee _like he owns the place._

The notebook crashes into his face with all the force you could muster. It slides off of his face unceremoniously, leaving him with a bloody nose. Wiping it once, the blood stains his sleeve.

“What an arm you have!”

One thing you’ve learned about him during book club is that he thoroughly enjoys your abrasiveness. Not too many are willing to stand up to his shenanigans.

“Why are- how did you??? Y’know what! I don’t even _want_ to know. Keep your secrets smiley,” you set your mug on the counter. You were hoping for a little quiet before dealing with him today. Nope! He squashed that wish like a bug under his shoe. “If you're just going to let yourself in, I’m not gonna let you lounge around. You’re gonna help me-” you point to the flea market box, “-sort through all of this.” This creep can at least make himself useful. 

You watch him shrug away his mug. “Fair enough.” He stands, pushes the chair in, and stalks next to you. Why. Is. He. So. Tall.

He looks over the damaged container. “It looks like our day is going to be quite busy! Completely _booked!”_

“How do you want them sorted?”

_Snap_

You watch in awe as the books burst from the box in a flash of green light and form an array of neat piles.

“Alphabetically?” 

_Snap_

They quickly reorganize themselves.

“Genre?”

_Snap_

“Size?”

_Snap_

“Color?”

_Snap_

“Author’s birth year?”

Oh no he’s about to do it again. “Ok ok that’s enough,” you think for a moment. “Genre would be greatly appreciated. I can work from there.” 

“If you insist!”

_Snap_

From there you’re able to figure out condition, rarity, and what’s needed most. It seems that sinners can never get enough of a good mystery. You place the sellables behind the counter for later shelving. The rest will either go to storage (your room) or make great tinder. Turns out that box was a good find. 

You pick up a hardcover from the counter. A murder mystery. “I love these,” you say absentmindedly.

“Is that so?” You jolt up, not expecting him to be listening. He sits up and puffs his chest out slightly. “ _Well_ I’ve been a suspect in not one. Not two. Six murder cases!” He sounds so proud. 

“What?” 

“These have to go up, yes?” He slings the boxes labeled “storage” and “kindling” under his arms and marches up the stairs. You’re surprised that those twigs he has for arms can carry anything. You follow him up. He sets them with the other miscellaneous boxes. 

You watch as Alastor picks out a few of the books from storage and lays them out in front of him. His close lipped smile turns into a full fledged cheshire grin as he looks up at you. You don’t trust it one bit. 

He picks up a phony magic book that you planned to use for kindling. “This book of incantations is useless. The author failed to run a _spell_ check!” His boisterous laughter fills the stagnant room. You cover your mouth to stifle a giggle. 

_Not funny_. _Not even a little._

Next he grabs a ripped and torn paperback. “I've never enjoyed paperbacks. Their blend of wooden characters and watered-down plots makes them pulpy!” He looks at you expectantly. A few rough exhales slip through your hand. 

He points to a dinosaur picture book. “What kind of book dates back to the Jurassic period? A _Thesaurus_!”

You’re clearly holding your breath. You can’t give in.

“A novel fell on my head the other day…” He magics his microphone cane thing into existence and waves it above his head. A floating bookcase! Out of nowhere! Isn’t that just dandy! A single book falls from it and lands on his head. “I can only blame my _shelf_!”

“Good one,” you finally admit. 

Alastor still has his arms extended above his head, mic gone. The bookcase is shoved onto his head by a few shadowy minions and shatters into a bajillion little bits. The collision shakes the building. He jumps out of the mess unscathed. Canned laughter fills the room.

For a moment, you stare in disbelief before, doubling over laughing, tears nearly stain your cheeks. That’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. This dork is going to be the death of you. 

You thought whatever malicious power he possesses is scary. You thought he was terrifying. You can’t believe you’ve seen something far far worse. His humor. It’s downright paralyzing.

“Al _please_ stop,” you inhale sharply and shake your head. “You’re the worst of the worst.” 

He chuckles inwardly. “You don’t have to remind me! I’m doing this for your own good… after all, seven days without a good laugh makes one weak!” 

You deadpan. “Will you drop it if I make you a coffee?” You make your way over to the kitchen. “Or would you prefer a deal?” His eyes light up. Literally. “Nonono that was a joke. Black coffee coming right up.” 

You set the kettle on the stove, watching him from the corner of your eye. With a snap, he portals away the mess. Good, you _really_ weren’t looking forward to cleaning up that disaster. 

As the kettle hisses, something stranger than usual happens. His shadow plucks itself from behind him and slinks over to the table between the twin armchairs. They share the same smile, although his (its?) is more ghoulish. It extends an arm and pockets a handful of licorices from a bowl you set out then takes its natural place behind him. 

Magic is weird. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the support! You all make this so much more rewarding ^^
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you had as much fun reading it
> 
> Also have you seen the spring sale? I caved and got a shirt plus pin (RIP my wallet)


	4. Reopening

You honestly thought in your cold almost dead heart that Alastor would’ve gotten bored by now. But no. He's been coming by for coffee _every_ night for the past month. Although you hate to admit it, it's nice to have the company with Abner out of town. Speaking of him, you got a letter from him yesterday.

_Dear kid,_

_I’m going to make this short and not so sweet. I doubt I’ll be coming back to the store. There’s rumor that the Radio Demon is prowling the area. I don’t want to be around for the inevitable slaughter that follows him. I’ve gotten bored of the place anyway. Do what you want with the shit hole. It’s yours._

_Don’t take shit from nobody and watch your back for the smiley freak._

_Take care,_

_Abner_

Well, it's a _bit_ more than a rumor.

He was never much for writing, more of a reader. There isn’t a return address on the note. A shame, you wanted to write him back. You miss his grumpy face. You’re sure you'll run into each other eventually. Anything can happen in an eternity. The letter was the kick in the butt to finally reopen.

The first day was uneventful: a few regulars stopped by to ask why it was closed for so long and where Abner was. It was nice to see a few sinners be so genuine, a rarity. It almost felt like you were in the overworld again. Even though he would never show it, the domestic scene would have made him happy. 

The one gal who you wanted to see the most showed up right when you thought about closing for the night. Stovetop. She’s the sister you never had in life. The thorn in your side before Alastor. She usually never buys anything from the shop, and when she does, it's always a ratty comic book. You always offer her the mint condition ones, but nah. The rips and water damage give them “character”. 

Despite your best attempts, neither you nor her can tell what kind of demon she is. Has to be some kind of mammal with a comically long and fluffy tail. She always uses the damn thing to tickle you, and you hate it every time. Maybe a lemur? You’ll have to bring that one up.

The first time you met her, she tried to pickpocket you. Then when she got caught, she attempted to flirt her way out. Not the best idea or first impression. Despite that, you two managed to become buddies. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen her in weeks. She's as bouncy as ever. You see it now, definitely a lemur. 

“Where’s grumpy pants?” She snakes through the shelves before hopping onto the counter. Her tail drags under your chin. You not so gently shove her off. 

“He… here.” You pull Abner’s letter from your backpocket and hand it to her. She looks it over a couple times.

“That’s a shame.. Looks like you're tied down to this dump for real now.” You both force laughs. It's not like you were planning on leaving anytime soon anyway.  “Anything else happen while you were closed?”

“Well there’s this guy-” She cuts you off and jumps back onto the counter. 

“Oooh tell me tell me tell me.” A half-hearted laugh slips through your lips as you rub your temple.

“Nono not like that… God I wish. He’s been coming by every  _ single _ night-”

“Can I have a name? Or are you scared I’m gonna steal him?” Her tail swishes around your neck. 

“If you want him you can have him. Never in my whole life, or unlife, have I ever dealt with such a narcissistic prick.” You pause for dramatic effect, n oticing that some of Alastor's speech habits have rubbed off on you.

“ _ Radio Demon.”  _ You watch as her face twists from smug to shock to disbelief.

“ _ Oh _ . That explains-” She picks up the letter. “Doesn’t Piss-Teeth come in once in a while anyways?”

“Yeah a couple times a year… never welcomed with open arms though.” 

“He’s bad news."

“I know what he is. He hasn’t tried anything  _ yet _ . And hopefully he’ll leave me be once he gets bored.” You smooth out her puffed up fur. “Don’t worry I’ll be ok.” Your smile is warm, albeit half-hearted. 

Stovetop, sensing the tension, quickly changes the subject. For a good ten minutes, she goes on about how she got a free meal out of some geezer last night. At one of the ritzy places too. When she leaves a nose poke and hug are her farewells. You forgot to bring up the lemur thing. Next time. 

Staring out the window after their retreating figure, you realize _who_ you have coffee with every night. It isn’t your average Joe who knows a few card tricks. It's _the_ Radio Demon, a barely contained chaos hidden in a posh red-adoring man, one of the most dangerous demons _ever_. 

Abner told you to stay away from the Radio Demon, a being of cruelty, not Al. You started to look forward to his nightly visits as you lost the initial fear. At first, you thought him insufferable, but you slowly got used to his downright oppressive aura and awful jokes. He has his own barely tolerable charm. He’s grown on you like a weird mole. You know how idiotic that is. You could get hurt or worse: _erased_. With something as effortless as a beat of his dead heart he could end you. But something deep within the remnants of your soul tells you not to worry, to be naive. You choose to indulge in the sense of safety like a fool.

Your fear bled away over the month that you've gotten to know him, and you aren't the only who noticed. After all, where's the fun if the prey isn't scared of the predator?

* * *

You closed up a few minutes ago. With the day’s profits safely locked away, you kick your feet up on the counter and start reading a novel Alastor recommended. There's some time to kill before he shows. But you have to admit, you're pretty pooped from reopening.

The inky blackness seeps through the window as the day comes to an end. You check your watch, Alastor should be here soon. You return to the story. Nearly two hours pass before you check the time again. You were too absorbed to notice the time fly by. 

Worry tugs at your sides seeing that he still hasn’t arrived. The anxiety dies down once you realize _who_ you’re worried about. The Radio Demon can take care of himself. You push your chair in and stretch, ready to head up for the night. 

As you reach the door to your sanctuary, uneasiness settles in your stomach. The air becomes heavy, hardly breathable. The kind that forces nausea and adrenaline to mix in your stomach. The once relaxing silence of night is now suffocating. You try to convince yourself that your mind is playing games. It's late after all. A cool sheen of sweat begins to form on your forehead as you reach out for the doorknob. 

_tap tap_

The glass of the window sings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who it could be
> 
> Thank you for reading! I appreciate every kudo and comment. They keep me going and writing through this not so great time. Sorry for the short chapter. More is to come very soon. Definitely by Tuesday!


	5. Uh Oh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood/horror (nothing too crazy)

_ tap tap _

The glass sings. 

Your body turns to face the source of the intrusion before your mind can stop it. Immediate regret fills your being. You wish it listened  _ just this once.  _ Two glowing scarlet orbs stare back at you, sunken in their sockets, with an “X” of matching hue hovering above them. An empty scream leaves your lips. You feel  _ its _ stare singe your being, burning through your skin, and directly to your conscience. The streetlights go out moments later.

You take a deep breath in an attempt to relieve the tension forming in your chest. It doesn’t help. The monster scratches at the door, fiddling with the handle. Thank the God that had forsaken you, you bolted it shut. 

You see the eyes rise as it straightens itself out. A series of cracks follow its jagged movements. Each crack rings in your ears like a bell that foretells your doom. It must’ve been hunched over to get a better look into the shop. Your body ignores your pleas that tell it to run. You're petrified with fear, frozen where you stand. Goosebumps grace your skin. Each creak is a trigger. 

_ You can’t look away.  _

The radio crackle upstairs, breaking you from your trance. The eyes disappear. You let out a strained sigh, praying it got bored and left. Your eyes close, feeling it’s safe enough to do so. Relishing the dissipating burn, you keep them shut.

You force them to reopen, an immediate regret. They say  _ ignorance is bliss  _ after all _. _ Pitch black fog seeps under the doorway and collects at your feet. It’s musty like decaying leaves and, you take another breath, gore. It’s reminiscent of a hunter’s shed. You nearly gag as the copper tang fills your lungs.

You step back and trip over yourself, legs still like jelly. A nail juts out of the ground, slicing your right palm as you fall. You have yet to feel the pain that would force tears to leak from your eyes, only the warmth that spills from your palm as it seeps into the cracks of the floorboards. Your heart pounds out of your chest like it’s going to burst out and run, leaving you behind. The only thing you can do is watch the corrupt mass grows and morphs into something barely recognizable as “alive”. 

The creature leans over you, extending an arm. From the appendage spills inky smoke, the same substance it’s made of. It’s form is barely stable, phasing in and out of a constant state. Only the eyes refuse to falter. The scent of the rotting hunter’s shed grows much  _ much  _ stronger. You’re paralyzed, whether it's fear or supernatural restraints, you can’t tell. 

Breath caresses your bleeding hand before claws grab your wrist with a force that could break it. Something warm and wet glides across your wound.  _ A tongue _ . It’s rough like steel wool. It works its appendage over your palm at a snail’s pace as if the monster is trying to indulge in every second,  _ every flavor.  _ You would've screamed if you could've found your voice. Despite your best efforts, you can’t will your hand to move away. For a moment, its teeth drag against your skin. They’re hooked as if to keep prey from escaping its maw.

One thought pulses through your terrified mind: It's _ going to eat me. _

It releases your wrist from its grasp and stands. It moves a few feet back, giving you space to breathe.

Tentacles inch forward from the figure toward you. They’re about to  _ touch _ you when the appendages are reabsorbed, and  _ it  _ takes a vaguely humanoid form. Ginormous sprawling antlers emerge from its head; they grow and curl in organized madness, nearly touching the ceiling. The shadows themselves seem to move by their own accord. Its vertebrae peek out of its mangled body. 

Everything starts to fade. The figure distorts further. You hope this is the end to whatever twisted dream this is. 

Static. You hear static. There's something else too: like someone is whispering but you can't make out the words. As the noises rise in volume, your eyes ease themselves closed. Why are you tired? You still feel your heart vibrating. The last thing you see is it extending an arm towards you. 

_ It  _ slowly morphs into a  _ he.  _ No tentacles. No smoke.  _ No monster. _

“Dear?”  _ Snap.  _ Right above your face. “Are you there?” 

_ There’s only Alastor _ . Only Al. 

The lights are back on and your vision is hazy. You sit up and immediately reach a hand up to rub your temple. Your head is pounding like you have a wicked hangover. Your eyes dart all around the store before fixating back on him. You stare up at him in disbelief. “Where’s the… where’s the monster?” your own ears can’t understand your own mumbles. 

"What's wrong? It looks like you've seen a ghost!” The audience laugh plays as he opens his hand, gesturing to help you up. You warily oblige; you don’t think you could get up on your own anyway. He straightens out his jacket and brushes off invisible lint.

Color returns to your face as he pats your head. You swat the unwelcome touch away. “Where is it? The… the monster?” You hate how weak, how childish you sound. This is the last person you want to seem vulnerable in front of.

“Whatever are you talking about? There’s no such thing in this urban part of Hell.” 

“No way. There was a monster and I tripped over myself and I cut myself. Look!” You open your hand and extend it towards his face. You anticipate searing pain from the cut, but there’s nothing. Confused, you examine your own hand. No blood. No cut. _ No monster _ . 

“I… I don’t understand. It all felt so real.” You can practically feel the creature’s sandpaper tongue on your skin. 

“It appears you had some…  _ especially vivid nightmares _ . I found you here unconscious on the floor.”  *

“Y’know what. I don’t want to dwell on it. Let’s leave it at weird dreams.” You pinch the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger. “Go get settled down… I have to finish up a few things down here.” You motion for him to go upstairs, exhausted from the experience and beyond befuddled. 

“Whatever you say my little bookworm,” he disappears into the stairwell, and the moment he disappears from your view, glees like a schoolgirl. Your expression, your scent. Pure terror! He could hardly take it. What a show! 

And your crimson sugar! How could he forget. He never tasted anything like it, anything so pleasing to the palette. As expected, it tasted similar to your fear but not nearly as sharp. The sweetness and floral notes were a pleasant surprise as well, neither overwhelming nor off putting. And to think it's all his to indulge in if he so chooses. 

Although he feels something odd… a twinge of  _ remorse _ ? That can’t be. He thought he banished the feeling long ago. He finds himself questioning: would that be so bad if it were for an innocent soul? Compared to him, you’re one of the many. Why this out of all he’s done? Why now?  _ Why you?  _

He has a different craving to satiate. Your liquor is dandy and all, but it isn’t what he  _ needs _ . Craves, yes. But needs? Far from it. His rancid heart longs for the gentle pleasures that are your laughter and delight.

He nearly chokes on his thoughts.  _ No _ . That’s even worse than remorse. What is he letting himself become? He takes off his monocle before examining it. He wipes the dust from it. He’s letting himself become  _ tame _ , that’s all. 

_ Disgusting _ . 

He has to get this putrid feeling out of his system. The only cure he can think of is to make amends. After that, he won’t return. This budding weakness will only bring him trouble.

Each step up the stairs is heavy for your tired body and each thought for your tired mind. The events of only a few minutes prior are already jumbled out of order in your memory. “He had to have had something to do with it. Did he mess with my head?” you murmur. “I couldn’t have imagined it, at least not all of it. Wait. How did he get in? I’m more than positive I bolted the door shut.” Your mind wanders back to the fog seeping under the entrance. 

“So that’s how he got in the first time: he turned into a spooky shadow monster. Fun! He could do that whenever he wanted! He could invade my privacy,  _ my home _ , whenever he pleased!” You push the unsettling thought away as you enter your all-too-welcoming abode. You can’t believe you started to trust him, to  _ like _ him. 

How much did you actually dream?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This was a pain in the butt to plan, but I'm proud of the outcome


	6. Flowers??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh?

Nightmares plagued your dreams the night of Alastor’s whatever. That _thing_ could’ve been something to put in your head to mess with you, or, the much more likely, that was _him_. You could barely catch a wink of sleep. He acted like everything was fine and dandy afterwards, but why wouldn’t he? You remember every scent and sensation, neither pleasant. With every creak of the floorboards, you’re reminded of the _thing’s_ vertebrae popping. 

When you did finally fall asleep, it wasn’t the escape you were hoping for. The monster was still there, but instead of looming over you, it stood in a faraway corner, just watching. Its shadowy mass of a body blended perfectly into the darkness; you couldn’t tell where it ended. Before you felt it, you smelled it, that horrible musky rotten scent. When it did finally grip you in those cold tentacles, you woke up in a cold sweat. You suffocated under the once comforting warmth of your blankets. It was an endless cycle of hysteria until the sun rose. Thankfully the next day was uneventful. You took care of all the mundane chores around the store. 

The mindless work was comforting; it kept the anxieties away. But every time you were about to melt into the repetitive actions, paranoia pulled you out of it. The feeling of being watched refused to fade all day. You swear the shadows were. The fear was a constant thanks to what happened last night. It looms over your every movement. You don't want to know what he'll try tonight. You expect to hear tapping on the glass any moment, instead it's soft knocking on the worn wooden entrance. 

“Dear, are you there?” You watch as he cranes his neck to get a better look inside. It's reminiscent of the monster's movements. It never ceases to amaze you how staggeringly tall he is. He almost encompasses the entirety of the doorway with his person.

Your shoulders relax as you open the door for him. He offers no daily cheek pinch. No twisted whatever tonight. You have to make a conscious effort not to sigh in relief. Your gaze works its way up and down his body, scanning for anything suspicious. His stature is rigid. Kinda weird but nothing to dwell on. Everything looks to be in order until you peek greenery poking out from behind him. You tilt your head to the side in an attempt to get a better look. The demon shuffles to the side to obscure your view. 

“Al, whatcha got there? This better not be another… I don't even know.” You don’t want to play tonight. You don’t want to be his toy _._ You don’t want to be his entertainment. Exhaustion feeds your peeved mind. You’re already in Hell. You don’t need another source of torment. The bags under your eyes feel so heavy. 

“Oh nono, nothing of the sort I promise!” Your eyes meet his, clouded with doubt. Something about him makes him  _ oh so _ untrustworthy. You wonder what that could  _ possibly _ be.

“Then what is it? Voodoo bullshit?” there's venom in your voice. 

“There’s no use hiding it from you,” He brings his hand, and with that what was hidden into view. Your jaw hangs loose. You feel like you’re going to pass out from the shock. The claws flex around a bouquet of… actual flowers? Real ones. Really real ones. Are they going to bite you? There must be spiders or snakes or  _ something _ . Your face flushes red, matching the roses. The arrangement is diverse and thoughtful. You have a feeling flower language is at play, despite not knowing enough to decipher it. He presses a finger under your jaw, closing your mouth.

“Voodoo! Black Magic! Something! It has to be!” You poke the bundle.

His ever-present grin softens at the edges, the corners of his eyes as well. While his gaze is soft, warm, and curious, yours grows ever more anxious. “Well… it's magic in a sense,” he points to the marigolds with a claw. “They’ll keep the heebie jeebies away. No more spookies.  _ No more monsters _ . I put together this here flower arrangement with that exact purpose in mind! It’s the least I could do for my most  _ gracious host _ .” 

He keeps talking, but your raging thoughts tune him out. This is so unlike him. Is he trying to make up for yesterday? Does he feel  _ bad _ ? Is that even possible? Question after question floods your mind. This can’t be the Radio Demon.  _ This can’t be Alastor. _

“Where did you-” Flowers are an absolute rarity. Only the top of the food chain of hell can get them, which still isn’t any easy task.

“I have a small garden that I care for myself.” His answer only leaves you with more questions. 

“I didn’t take you for the type.” You're baffled. He cares about another living thing. No  _ things. _ You didn't think that was even in the realm of possibility. 

“The flowers remind me of them,” he throws his arms up dramatically and gestures around him. Them? He acts like he isn’t a sinner himself. He takes a flower from its shelter before handing you the delicate bundle. He rubs the silky petals between his fingers. “So fragile…” He sighs as he tears a petal away. “Seeing how they struggle to survive,” He plucks another. “It all means nothing once they’re cut down or better,  _ erased _ . What could be more  _ entertaining  _ than the struggle and inevitable fall?” 

Despite the sudden change in attitude and evident aggression, it's comforting in an odd way. This is more like the demon you're used to. His smile is sharp, predatory. It reminds you of his first visit (and yesterday. Definitely not as comforting.). He opens a miniature portal beside him with the snap of his fingers. He drops the mangled flower and lone petal into it. He closes it with another snap. A feeble wave passes through the air. 

_ Show off _ .

Expecting a grand reaction, he glances over at you. Nope. You’re already nose deep in the flowers, indulging in their earthy scent. Might as well enjoy them before he sends the rest to the void.

He finds himself staring at you, watching your eyes dance through the colors. An unfamiliar warmth spreads across his face. A  _ blush _ . He’s not just tame,  _ he’s soft. _ He shakes it off. The demon turns to the window to keep his thoughts at bay. He idly watches a few lesser demons picking at an imp. After a few moments, the mob catches his gaze. They scurry into the dark recesses of an alley. So much for distracting himself. His thoughts wander again, no matter how he tries to focus. 

How do you not crumple in the hellscape? Is it naivety? It's so refreshing yet sickening compared to the dreariness of it all. He wants to hold it close to his chest, to protect it, almost as much as it makes him want to gag. This feeling is  _ exhausting _ . 

His eyes find your face. He can’t help but notice the softness of your cherub cheeks, how your laughter awakens his comatose heart, how your eyes reflect no sin, how your flesh radiates an _innocence_ that is so tempting to steal away. His radio chirps spike for a moment. He mentally slaps himself, afraid you might be able to see his thoughts. 

He feels his control slipping from his fingers. He can’t decipher his own feelings. They’re warm, disgustingly gentle,  _ uncomfortable. _

**What is this?**

He wants to chase them away, but something tells him to indulge: relax, let go of your hostility, give in to its gentle caress, wrap yourself in its tender touch, let it take hold,  _ control _ . This is a desire he never felt, not even in mortal life. It isn’t aggressive, instead a subtle nagging in his stomach. The mildness of it isn’t worth the effort to stamp out, making it all the more irritating. He doesn’t get confused; he isn’t supposed to. He can’t think straight. His nails dig into his hands, threatening to cut them. He  _ can’t. _ His smile falters at the edges. What is this? Pigment and warmth kiss his cheeks. He’s  _ vulnerable. _

He wants it to stop.  **He needs it to stop** . 

Those antlers, once sharp at the edges but relatively small and harmless, begin to grow; no doubt a subconscious reaction to feeling threatened. Out of thin air, there’s a barely audible  _ pop _ above his head. Reaching up, he grabs something small and soft. He brings it down to his eye level. 

A black flower? 

_ Pop _

He plucks off another. 

This is only adding to the confusion. Not knowing what else to do, he just eats them.

He only knows one thing for certain: the cause of his confusion and now flowering,  _ you _ .  _ You _ have him bewitched. He only sees one “logical” solution to his predicament. It’s simple really. All he has to do is rid himself of the cause. He could never come back. He could send you off to Wonderland. He could kill you. But where’s the satisfaction in any of those? 

He always considered himself a man of logic, but one “illogical” option is  _ much _ more appealing than the others: he could stick around for a while longer to figure himself out. That  _ would  _ be more beneficial in the long run. But that could be dangerous, intentionally putting him in a vulnerable state. There’s the hope of answers. 

_ Pop _

His chest feels tighter. He’s nervous. Never in an eternity would he admit he’s on the brink of panic.

_ Pop _

“This can be exploited so easily,” he begins to mutter to himself. “You’re going to get yourself killed.  _ Again. _ The only reason you died the first time was because you were careless. Do I want to risk it?  _ Again? _ I could end this so  _ so _ easily. Right here right now. Nono that’s just running away from a problem that will surely be back to haunt me. But how long will it be until someone I can’t dispatch of finds out?”

You grow nervous under his gaze as the light mood of the night grows tense under his stare.

“What?” You break his train of thought.

Shaking himself out of whatever strange manner of dialogue that had been pouring out of his mouth, Alastor smiles down at you, a genuinely warming gesture out of place for someone supposed to be so dangerous. Before you can notice, he snaps away whatever blossoms remain.  He hums, shrugging his shoulders as if for once in his life, he’s truly speechless. 

You find that he has a light blush on his face, and his smile, ever there, is a bit… uncomfortable? Which really never happens. 

“Darling, how about some liquid energy for the two of us? I’ll go get started on it right away!” he can't bear another moment in his dearly detested's gaze. He might start blooming again, what a problem that would be. 

Your curious gaze follows him as he ascends the stairs. What’s gotten into him? Did he eat something spoiled? Did his magic backfire? He’s an enigma of an individual, but this is more confusing than usual. Before you can dwell on it for much longer, you hear the kettle’s song from upstairs. Time to head up.

You walk through the door and glance at the twin armchairs, half expecting to see Alastor settled down with his book. Instead his pinstripe jacket is neatly draped over his spot. Turning towards the kitchen, you see him fiddling with your pour-over coffee contraption. You assumed he would’ve magically made coffee, not make it himself. The sleeves of his button-up are neatly rolled up and hair tied back. That’s a lot of scars he has there.

Wait. 

His hair isn’t just tied back, he used a ribbon. It's up in a little bow. Does he think he’s too good for a hair tie? 

**Wait** . 

Is that a… tail? It’s comically fluffy for someone like him. 

A smile sneaks onto your lips as your guard falters. He looks nonthreatening, even cute compared to his usual self. You do a double take and nearly slap yourself. The Radio Demon is cruel and conniving. Not to mention, an  _ asshole  _ for messing with you for the last month. He is  _ not _ cute. 

You silently settle down in your chair. Not in the decade you’ve been here has the thought of an  _ overlord _ making you coffee crossed your mind. Anything can happen in an eternity. It’s off-putting to see him act in such a manner, with so much enthusiasm for something so mundane. You lay your novel in your lap and wait for him to join you. 

Thoughts race through your head at the speed of light. Is he trying to make up for whatever the hell yesterday was? Is that what the flowers were? He did say they would keep the “monsters” away, but why would he care? Not to mention, there’s bound to be a target on your back for even associating with him. He emerges with two coffees in hand and sets them on the table, ending your inner dialogue. You snag the one closest to you, whatever you need the energy boost. 

“How very sweet of you,” sarcasm taints your words. You decide not to mention the tail. Your lips meet the mug. At least he knows how to make a decent cup of joe. The ghost of a smile graces your cheeks. 

“Only for you.” He delights in your pleased expression. He can’t help himself. It’s  _ almost _ as satisfying as your terror (or laughter).

* * *

Alastor decides against poofing home tonight. A stroll always helps to ease his already chaotic mind. And the coffee was stronger than he realized. Jitters make everything worse. 

What to do about the little sinner that has whittled a crack in his mind? 

“One option is safe,” he’s torn. The demon rubs his temples. “But would I ever be able to satiate my curiosity? It’ll drive me mad(der)!” 

Out of the blue, one thought rings true in his head. 

“Harry!” his shadowy companion. His silhouette. “Harry enjoys visiting. He’s a glutton for those licorices our little sinner has. We haven’t managed to find them elsewhere.”

He calculates the risk. But man, is he bad at math. 

“It’s settled then, we’ll continue to visit to satiate that sweet tooth of yours.” Harry manifests in a semi physical from beside Alastor and chirps. “Of course that’s the only reason! Don’t get snippy with me mister.” He would never admit it, but it isn't often someone piques his interest, let alone his  _ anxieties. _ He can't let you slip away. You're an unmatched curiosity, the target of a brewing tender  _ addiction _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the more challenging scenes to write, but I'm really happy with the end product. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! I really appreciate all of the support, comments, and everything!


	7. Diary Entries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a drama queen

Alastor decided to keep a diary of sorts to track his observations of himself and the sinner who piqued his anxieties. The notebook he kept for business became one to keep track of his findings. 

**_333 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ The flowers I brought only a day ago have begun to wilt. _

**_332_ _Days Until the Cleanse_**

_ It appears the little one noticed as well. The bouquet now hangs from the bedroom doorway. I find myself bewildered that it was hung in such a sentimental place.  _

**_314 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ During today’s visit, the little one asked the strangest thing of me. I was requested, then told, to discard my shoes at the entrance of the upstairs. One could only imagine my surprise at such a development. Even my host was put off by my reaction. As a result, I was handed these outrageous fluffy pink slippers, matching those my host adorned.  _

_ The sweetheart grumbled about there being a buy one get one sale and not to overthink the gesture. It would be rude if I didn’t oblige, especially after the trouble of bringing the slippers, so I wore them for the rest of my visit  and agreed to make a habit of wearing them when I arrive.  _

_ What a strange creature! This gesture and the little one’s embarrassed demeanor forced that same horrid warmth to spread across my face again. My observations must continue. I feel that the answers are closer. _

**_299 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ Harry seems to be curious about our host. Maybe I’ll allow them to interact.  _

**_298 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ DO NOT let Harry out of your sight when with the little one. He’s such a troublemaker.  _

**_285 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ For the damnation of humanity, be gentle. The little one is awfully delicate and does not enjoy being handled roughly. If you’re going to pick up the creature, give warning or be prepared to receive a black eye and shattered cheaters.  _

**_269 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ The little darling and I have fallen into a schedule of sorts. We switch the duty of making coffee every other day. It's curious how easily we’ve both fallen into this domestic life, even if it's only for moments at a time. There’s a bewildering thrill that accompanies it. It's something that someone as myself shouldn’t be allowed to indulge in. It’s far too pleasant. I fear I’ve become too invested in this odd paradise.  _

**_268 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ Nothing like a midnight broadcast to clear the head!  _

**_252 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ The lilacs are in a robust bloom. I cut a few from the bush and brought them today. Their fragrance is heavenly, very fitting for the destination. The little one was prepared with a long necked vase. My surprise must’ve been evident because I received an explanation.  _

_ “Do you remember that flea market box?” _

_ “How could I forget, the murder mysteries you so enjoy!”  _

_ “Yeah, well I got this,” a gesture to the vase, “from the same imp. I got another box of books from him too.” I was then invited to help organize. During our time together, I caught the dear smelling the flowers. Luckily, I didn’t begin flowering myself. It brings a genuine smile to my face. I’m slowly becoming more tolerant of these foreign emotions.  _

**_233 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ While the coffee was brewing, I took the time to peek into the fridge. I hoped to make us a simple supper, but to my dismay, it was horribly understocked. I must remember to bring some of the finer cuts from today’s hunt and vegetables from the garden to make a stew.  _

_ Oh joy! I cannot wait to see the surprise on my dearly detested’s face!  _

**_217 Days Until the Cleanse._ **

_ It’s been far too long since I’ve cooked with another. The last time must’ve been with my mother! She would’ve been overjoyed with the result of our labor, just like the little one was. To have her guidance would’ve helped me make sense of this damning situation long ago. Although, I doubt she would be able to explain the flowering; it would be amusing to her if anything.  _

**_210 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_ The bookworm attempted to return the favor from a week prior. I understand why the stove and oven are never utilized. Thankfully, the “dish” was salvageable. How did this sinner ever survive without me? _

**_189 Days Until the Cleanse_ **

_Nothing_. 

Alastor can’t think of a single thing to write about the previous day. It was so wonderfully mundane! His pen hovers just above the page. He closes the leather bound notebook and throws it into a far off corner of his study. The hellish moonlight streams in through the large arched windows. 

By now, nearly five months in, he thought he would have an answer to his little predicament. So close yet so far. Although these feelings are still foreign to him, he's more tolerant of them now. But that doesn’t mean he  _ likes _ them. His emotions have grown from something carefully cultivated to a sporadic beast. Taming himself again isn’t going to be an easy task. Maybe that won’t even be necessary if he finds his answer. 

A few times he confronted himself, searching for the truth. He hates doing that above all else. Usually in damning situations such as this, he could grapple with nostalgia and come out with some kind of answer. He attempted that and did come out with something, but it only cursed him with more confusion. 

_ Desire.  _

But in what sense? He desires to make that creature his in every sense of the word. He desires to have that dulcet laughter ring for him. He desires to surround himself in that sugary strawberry scent. He desires everything to do with that silly little sinner. 

He isn’t even quite sure what that entails, but he still longs for it to come true. It caused him to do such strange things already. He bent to the will of another. He yearned to see the smile of a being other than himself. He literally began to flower. 

Being far from cozy in his own mind, it’s a constant battle for dominance with his private madness. The act of trying to organize his thoughts is always bound to fail. 

If he can’t trust himself, who’s left to confide in? Two come to mind: Mic and Harry. They couldn’t exploit him even if they tried. They are both extensions of himself with a few more souls thrown in here and there. They literally couldn’t betray him. They’re both conscious, although Mic is more independent of “the bossman”. Through them he could find the answers to himself. 

He paces around his study. Harry has no answers to give. He’s like a slightly more intelligent dog if anything. He stares out the expansive windows that make up the south wall, into the garden. Mother would be proud. His columbine flowers are finally in full bloom, both red and purple! He casted a spell over his flower beds many many years ago to ensure they would always be blooming, but seeing them in full bloom is still a sight to behold. Maybe he’ll make a bundle of them for his little dear... the last one was received quite well. 

With a wave of his wrist and a smoky cloud, Alastor’s microphone appears in his hand. “What do you think, my dear friend?” 

An eye blinks open. “That sounds right as rain. But something else sure doesn’t. If you don’t mind me asking, bossman, what’s with you and that little sinner?” 

“Well you see Mic,” he snaps a floating  chaise longue into existence and hoists himself onto it. “I don’t know.” Mic floats up next to him as he lies down. “The strangest thing happened to me. I felt an emotion! A lot of them actually. And I can’t figure them out for the life of me. It used to be so easy! There was only one answer most of the time: none. How simple it was. But now…” he glances out the window. The sun is going to come up soon. How long has he been dwelling on this? “But now there’s more. A lot more. It’s like a zoo up here!” He knocks on his head. 

“You already know the cause, correct?”

“Mmhm” 

“You won’t believe what happened only a couple days ago… I got to the book shop a little earlier than usual and saw another demon there,” Alastor starts to talk with his hands. "She had an outrageous tail. It was like one of those boa scarves those flapper gals used to wear! I’m getting off topic. Anyway. I watched them from across the street. They were only chatting, and I found myself getting jealous! Isn’t that ridiculous? Hell, I even began to transform. The few sinners around me scattered faster than a spooked squirrel. I would’ve gotten a chuckle out of it if it wasn’t for my outburst.”

“Mhm”

A few  _ pops _ announce the arrival of more strange little black flowers. He plucks one away and holds it for Mic to see. “I’m still not sure what to think of  _ these _ . I can’t find a single explanation in any volume. Again, you’re already well aware of the cause. But what I need is the  _ why _ .”

“I’ve lost count of how many times,” he continues. “Even the thought of the little darling has forced pigment to my cheeks! Such displays of emotion are embarrassing, don’t you agree? The littlest things set it off. What has become of me?”

Mic's single eye blinks a few times in repetition. “Sounds like love.” That’s all he said before disappearing into a black fog. 

A long series of  _ pops _ fills his ears.

“Love?” The word rings like a bell in the high ceilinged room. “That absurd concept is for  _ fools _ .” He wanted nothing to do with it. Love was something written about by lustful degenerates. Love was something chatted about in alleyways. Love was something for the  _ weak _ . His lips tug at their edges aggressively, his smile akin to a snarl.

“I’m no fool. Fools are naive, pathetic, empathetic,  _ disgusting and weak _ ," he practically spits the final words. “Not me. Never me. As I am no fool. I am a hunter. I am a killer. I am a sinner. I am no clown.  _ I am no fool! _ ” He puffs out his chest with these declarations before deflating.

Alastor sits up and snaps the lounge from existence. He falls to the floor with a soft thump. He lays there motionless and stares up at the ceiling. After a few minutes of watching the dust bunnies, he turns to the south wall and stares out onto the garden. Beings similar to overworld bees and butterflies buzz around his flowers in the dawn light. His smile falls into a thin straight line as he shuts his eyes.

Unable to find the mental calm needed for sleep, he doesn’t move. The sun soon rises and descends as quickly. Everything's happening so much slower than he’s used to. It feels like days, months, even years went by. Not mere hours. No matter where he tries to run and hide in his mind, the thought of you, the grotesque thought of  _ loving _ you, never fails to find him. Beings like him weren’t made for such pleasantries. To even entertain the thought sends his breathing in frenzy. 

This is too much, too overstimulating. 

_ pop _

He can practically feel the dust settling on his chest. Is this a body his dearly detested could love? Reaching for a pillow on the nearby overstuffed lounge, he holds in close to his chest and inhales deeply, wishing it was your saccharin scent. 

“I am. I am a fool.” 

His flattened smile slowly curls up after a few seconds into something more… gentle, as if the idea is no longer terrifying. As if the idea is welcoming. He springs up in a fit of laughter and brings Harry up with him. 

“I am a fool! The most ignorant of them all!” He twirls his shadow around, causing petals to loosen from his antlers and flutter about. “Love…” he tests the word on his tongue. “What a feeling! I haven't felt anything like it before. It makes me want to make that little doe of ours mine! I’m starved. Starved for the little one’s affections, love, and praise! I crave it more than the sight of fear in a sinner's eyes when I'm about to steal away their soul. Who would have thought? Me loving another!”

“Mine,” he would love to make that your new pet name. His antlers flower further from the thought.

Off he went to his odd little paradise, petals trailing behind him. A new plan brewed in his mind. No longer would he simply observe you, he would make you  _ his and only his. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload! I really wanted to get this chapter right. It was the most difficult so far, so all the more rewarding now that it's finished! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! I appreciate everything single ounce of support!! ^^


	8. "Research"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he finally buys something!

Another six months until that oh so entertaining cleanse. Most of Hell’s denizens don’t pay attention to the countdown clocks until there’s about a week or so left until the genocide. Each tick of their hands announces death for many and opportunity for few. Alastor couldn’t be looking forward to the occasion, even more so since he might have a sinner to enjoy it with. Who might that be? Why the lovely creature who enraptures and tortures him much the same, of course!

Speaking of the soul, he’s headed to the bookshop now. He needs new ‘research’ materials, if you will. Now, he isn’t completely oblivious when it comes to romance, he has eyes after all, but he never paid much attention to it. And despite watching you for about half a year, he’s unaware of your romantic interests, having just observed you as a whole. That was changing day by day, but he knows he can’t watch you and hope to get far. He needs more direct and mainstream sources. So where does he turn to for help? Of course not friends— he isn’t daft. Romance novels are the way to go!

The stag is so enveloped in his train of thought that he barely notices his passing of Overworld Obscurites, the work place and home of  _ his _ darling. It looks so different in the light of the ruby sun. Backtracking, he callously kicks the door open and enters. The little one seems to be busy at the front desk. 

“How can I- oh Alastor? You’re early.” 

“Why yes indeedy, I am! Although I would love to chat, I’m here as a customer.” 

Without waiting for his bookworm’s response, he disappears among the expansive shelves. He knows just where to find his desired texts. They’re tucked away from sight in a far off corner. 

With a snap, Mic pops into existence and has his head dragged across the shelves, spilling the books onto the floor. With another, a green glow encompasses them and they float up into neat piles. He cleans the romance section of every last book with a silly grin plastered on his face. Off he goes to the front to see one he’s doing this for. His little one’s eyes are as big as plates as he sets the pile on the counter. 

“Oh?”

“Any favorites?” he asks blatantly.

“Weeeell, I’m fond of-” scanning through his accumulation “-this one.” A pale green hardcover. “I’m not much for the story, but it has a lovely scene on a lake.”

That’s all he needed to know. He magics that particular novel to the top of the stack as he stares down at her, ever present grin wider than usual. 

“What will the total be?” he asks.

Without waiting for a response, he slaps a stack of banknotes onto the counter and walks out of the store as quickly as he came in. Handing the hardcovers and paperbacks alike to his shadowy companion, Harry, he strolls down the streets of the Pentagram. He could poof home, but where’s the fun in that? The proper atmosphere makes reading all the more enjoyable. 

After a solid ten minutes of his shoes clacking against the cobblestone streets, he comes across a locked park. Well no door is locked when you can just — shifting into a shadowy form, he slips through the bars. 

The park is well kept, flower beds in robust bloom, grass freshly mowed, and path maintained. It’s a rare treat in the city. Not long after entering, he’s led through a partially wooded area then a lake. A pleasant surprise to say the least. He settles at the base of a large oak, soft grass cushioning his seat. 

Harry slips out, desired book in his shadowy grasp, and hands it to his master. Alastor thanks him with a nod as he retrieves a leatherbound journal from his suit jacket. 

Time to get to the task at hand!

The mint hardcover his darling singled out, that’s the first he pages through. Every so often, he stops to jot down a few notes. The tale itself is nothing to faun over, but it is charming.

The sun ripe to set, he finally gets to the scene described — a moonlit picnic on a lake. It’s so sweet it makes him want to  _ gag _ . He’s tempted to toss the book into the lake, but no, he must prevail! For his little one, for the love that has only just begun to bloom. 

Speaking of blooming— pop! 

Ah, of course. Alastor was waiting for the curious flowerets to show themselves. He plucks it from his antlers and uses it as a bookmark. It’s pressed in those yellowed pages as he closes the novel. 

As much as he’d love to stay and read in this very spot, the night calls. He wouldn’t want to be late to seeing his bookworm. An extra skip to his step, he makes the return journey to Overworld Obscurities. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i'm so sorry for the sudden disappearance. life tore me away from writing for awhile and i wasn't able to get to my baby. although i can't promise frequent updates, rest assured that this story will be completed! it makes me so happy that so many enjoy my little tale.
> 
> thank you for your patience and lots of love!! <3


	9. ANNOUCEMENT

hey guys! it's been awhile. A LONG WHILE. life was especially hectic these last few months thanks to senior year/college, but i'm finally free!! so except an update soon (hoping for sometime this week, but we'll see qwq). BUT before the new update, i'm going to go back and edit the previous chapters. there likely won't be any major changes, just brushing up, but i advise reading those before the new one.

another thing, thank you for all the comments and allowing me to take you on this lil' adventure with me. i never thought i'd never have the guts to publish my fic; i'm so glad i did. take care my alast-hoes!


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